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Page 13:-
and slough followed. Here the steepness of the ascent was
slightly mitigated; and here the exploring party of three
turned round to look at the view below them. The scene of
the moorland and fields was like a feeble water-colour
drawing half sponged out. The mist was darkening, the rain
was thickening, the trees were dotted about like spots of
faint shadow, the division-lines which mapped out the fields
were all getting blurred together, and the lonely farm-house
where the dog-cart had been left, loomed spectral in the
grey light like the last human dwelling at the end of the
habitable world. Was this a sight worth climbing to see?
Surely - surely not!
Up again - for the top of Carrock is not reached yet. The
landlord, just as good-tempered and obliging as he was at
the bottom of the mountain. Mr. Goodchild brighter in the
eyes and rosier in the face than ever; full of cheerful
remarks and apt quotations; and walking with a springiness
of step wonderful to behold. Mr Idle, farther and farther in
the rear, with the water squeaking in the toes of his boots,
with his two-guinea shooting-jacket clinging damply to his
aching sides, with his overcoat so full of rain, and
standing out so pyramidically stiff, in consequence, from
his shoulders downwards, that he felt as if he was walking
in a giant extinguisher - the despairing spirit within him
representing but too aptly the candle that had just been put
out. Up and up and up again, till a ridge is reached and the
outer edge of the mist on the summit of Carrock is darkly
and grizzingly near. Is this the top? No, nothing like the
top. It is an aggravating peculiarity of all mountains,
that, although they have only one top when they are seen (as
they ought always to be seen) from below, they turn out to
have a perfect eruption of false tops whenever the traveller
is sufficiently ill-advised to go out of his way for the
purpose of ascending them. Carrock is but a trumpery little
mountain of fifteen hundred feet, and it presumes to have
false tops, and even precipices, as if it were Mont Blanc.
No matter; Goodchild enjoys it, and will go on; and Idle,
who is afraid of being left behind by himself, must follow.
On entering the edge of the mist, the landlord stops, and
says he hopes it will not get any thicker. It is twenty
years since he last ascended Carrock, and it is barely
possible, if the mist increases, that the party may be lost
on the mountain. Goodchild hears this dreadful
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